Hades' Cursed Luna novel Chapter 371

Chapter 371: We Take Their Children

Eve

No one answered.

I didn’t expect them to.

I adjusted Elliot in my arms, brushing a soot-stained curl from his brow as I stepped further into the chamber’s center. The echo of my boots across the marble floor was the only sound now—like a countdown. Like judgment.

"If Kael could fall, what makes you think any of you are untouchable?" I asked, softer this time, deadlier for it. "He was Obsidian’s blade. Its shadow. Its wall. And still... they found him. Took him. Vanished him."

A few of them looked away.

I kept going.

"You think I’m the threat because I bear my father’s name? Then what threat do you think Darius Valmont could pose to your pack."

Montegue looked up at that—sharp, calculating.

I turned back toward the table, gaze sweeping across every man who’d tried to silence me tonight.

"You don’t need to like me," I said. "You don’t even need to trust me. But you will listen to me. Because whether you accept it or not, I’m the only one still standing between you and extinction."

Silas scowled. "You speak as if we are powerless—"

"You are!" I snapped, loud enough to cut him off. "You’ve grown fat on your own pride. Blinded by titles and tradition while the world burns around you."

I pointed at the scorched map display still blinking red behind them. "They bombed us. They breached the wall. They took your Commander’s second, almost took his son. And you’re worried about whose blood runs thicker?"

Silence.

"This war isn’t about blood anymore. It’s about survival. And right now, you are losing."

I reached for the nearest datapad on the war table—one of the many reports they’d been too busy posturing to read—and tapped the cracked screen.

"Let me show you how."

The central map projection hummed to life, flickering with red zones marked for damage, and blue trails showing the last known troop movements.

"The bomb detonated in the common hall at 02:16. That was never the real objective—it was a distraction. A misdirection designed to draw our forces outward, to trigger lockdown protocol and flood the east quarter with smoke and panic."

I swiped through the next screen. An overhead blueprint of Obsidian Castle bloomed life, corridors now marked with time-stamped surveillance gaps and interference zones.

"They used the chaos to breach the private wings. Whoever they were—whoever sent them—knew our defenses too well. They moved with precision. Cut every feed. Masked every scent. They weren’t improvising—they followed a plan."

I pulled up the security overlay, pointing to a cluster of red pings along the servant corridors.

"This is where Kael was last seen, trying to subdue one assailant in his Majesty’s room before they could take Elliot. We believe he was drugged. And then taken through one of three possible exit tunnels."

Gallinti frowned. "But all three tunnels were sealed off hours before the blast."

"Exactly." I turned toward him. "That means someone opened one. From the inside."

Murmurs rose—but now they sounded like strategy, not outrage.

"Every scanner was tripped except for one—the passage beneath the greenhouse tower. A place no one had authorization to enter."

Silas shifted. "That route was decommissioned."

"It was supposed to be," I said coldly. "But the lock logs were erased. Every trace. And you know what that tells me? It tells me someone not only knew where to strike—but how to cover it up."

A harsh silence.

"They infiltrated us," I continued. " Not as brutes. As ghosts. And they left without a trace."

Montegue’s voice finally returned, hoarse but steadier. "We searched every tunnel, every freight lift, every gated wing. Dogs couldn’t pick up a scent. Drones lost heat trail after three clicks."

I met his gaze. "They vanished."

Montegue’s throat bobbed again, his hand slowly falling away from his chin. He leaned forward—past the layers of tension, past the barrier of fear and pride—and for the first time all night, his voice carried weight again.

"If they infiltrated with that level of precision," he said slowly, "then the explosion wasn’t just a distraction."

His eyes dropped to the map. Then to the datapad. Then... to Elliot.

"Was it a message?" Gallinti asked, quieter now.

Montegue shook his head. "A message doesn’t require this much risk. They didn’t just come to prove a point." He paused. "They came for something. Or someone."

He looked directly at me.

"Was it Elliot?"

The question cracked through the silence like a thunderclap.

My spine stiffened, arms curling tighter around my son. He stirred slightly, sighing in his sleep, his lips brushing the fabric of my shoulder.

Montegue’s gaze didn’t leave him.

"He’s five," he whispered, almost to himself. "Barely five."

His voice broke on the last word.

And then—as if summoned by that tremble—Elliot shifted again. His lashes fluttered, cheeks still flushed from dried tears and sleep. He mumbled something I almost didn’t catch.

Almost.

"...Uncle..."

Montegue inhaled sharply. His fingers clenched into fists against the table as he slowly looked back up.

I felt it too. The nausea. The weight.

Because if Elliot was the objective—if they risked everything for him—then this wasn’t about war.

"He’s just a child," Montegue said, more to the room now than to me. "So why would they want him? What could he possibly possess that makes him worth this kind of breach?"

Verify captcha to read the contentVerify